Runaway
by carbontetrachloride
Summary: DL, angst filled. Previously a one-shot.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I felt a little sadistic last night so it all came spewing out. The story (or lack there of) is not very happy...whatever, it's very not happy. I hope you'd still enjoy it though, even if it's a little hard to. Whoo! Why am I rambling? Anyways...warning here for about 5 bad words and for the angst.

Disclaimer: My pockets are still rather empty, so nope...I don't own them.

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**Runaway **

I was humming to myself, spinning the car keys with my index finger when I entered Sullivan's. It was about nine p.m., and my shift had just ended. Boy, was I tired or what? I walked in and everything was normal, a few cops seated here and there, a couple of hot chicks, some old, balding men, the bartender serving drinks, and some familiar faces that I recognized but didn't know. Something, or rather, someone caught my eye…and I had to gulp. Perched on a stool before the counter tossing back tequila shots was Lindsay, dressed in the exact same clothes I had seen her leave work in three hours ago. Wondering what the hell was up with her, I strode over and took the adjacent seat.

She turned to look at me. "Hello, Don. What'cha doing here?"

"Getting a couple of beers," I raised an eyebrow at her, "You?"

"Hey, hey! Bartender! What's your name?" She hollered not too softly.

"Um..George." He must be used to not-quite-drunks, judging from the look of warning he shot me.

Lindsay chuckled, circling her finger in my direction "Good! George! Can you get him _two_ beers?"

"Just one will do." I told him before turning back to face Lindsay as he hurried away. "Lindsay, what are _you_ doing?"

"Drowning my sorrows, what else do you think?" She tossed half the glass of alcohol down her throat. _Gulp._

I eyed the glass bottle before her uneasily, how long had she been here if one-third of the bottle was already gone? "You were fine at six. Sorrow-less, bouncing to get home, what happened in between?"

She snorted in a rather un-lady like manner, "I don't have a home no more." dipped her head down and swirled the tequila in the shot glass. I thanked George when he returned with my beer. Lindsay kicked the back of her heels against the metal of the barstool and closed her eyes, sighing tiredly.

"What do you mean?"

Lindsay opened one bloodshot eye and peered at me, "Ahhh, Don, let me get drunk."

"You already are, Lindsay. Mac will…"

"Don't tell me what Mac will do or won't do. And I'm not drunk," She poured herself another glass of tequila; "if I were I wouldn't be sitting here talking to you. _Coherently_." My eyes followed her hand as she lifted the glass and brought it to her lips. "Maybe if I get drunk enough, I'll have the guts to play in traffic instead of sit here and passive smoke."

"Lind-say…"

She swallowed. "Just shut up, will ya? You sound like an annoying buzzing thing." Her voice held no malice though, just sadness, the burr of her native accent was becoming more prominent.

I downed my beer and tossed a few bills on the counter. "Come on, Lindsay, I'll drive you home." She scowled, but let me drag her out while she eyed the bottled abandoned at the counter longingly. Once we were out of the pub and into the light drizzle, she muttered, "I told you I don't have a home anymore," tears spilling from her eyes but she wiped them away hastily and folded her arms across her chest.

"Alright," I opened the car door and let her climb in. I got in from the other side and started the engine. "You wanna tell me what the fuck Danny did?"

"I don't really have a choice, do I?" I smiled at her but shook my head. She sighed, and turned to face the window, and stayed that way until we reached the parking complex of my building.

We waited in silence as the elevator brought us up, her leaning slightly against me to keep from toppling over. She tripped over her toes a few times within the short journey from the elevator door to my door and sighed loudly.

"So, what the fuck did Danny do?"

I watched, a little in horror, as the alcohol kicked her walls down and she sobbed into her hands. "I got home, and instead of finding him in the kitchen I find a bloody divorce paper tacked to the fridge. You tell me what the fuck did Danny do!" She screamed and choked on her tears. "And we were just planning to have dinner over the weekend. Dinner, damn it! And he was happy. He was happy."

She whipped around to look at me. "He wasn't happy? Oh God, what did I do? I thought he was happy. Why would he do this?"

I'm pretty sure my eyes were wide open in shock. Danny? Divorce? Whathefuck!

"I need air." She stood up, wobbled a little, and made her way to my balcony. With all her drunken strength, Lindsay slid open the glass panes and walked out. Five seconds later, I blinked rapidly and still trying to process the horrendous information I had just received, walked out after her. She pressed her back against the railing and cried softly.

"Lindsay, it's raining, come back inside."

"No. No, no, I need to think. I need to know why. He was happy…" her voice trailed off into a whisper that got drowned out with the rolling thunder above and the raindrops crashing loudly against the sidewalk. The rain flattened her curls and she gripped the sides of her head with her hands. I felt sickened as she sobbed into her knees, rain sliding off her elbows.

"Please?"

"No."

I gave up, Danny was the only one who could deal with her when she was stubborn, and now…I just felt like smashing Danny's head in. "I'm going to call him."

I doubt she heard me above the roar of the thunder and the sounds of her own pain so I walked back and reached for my cell phone and dialed the familiar numbers.

"Hey, Danny."

"_Hey."_

"Where's your wife?"

"_I don't know,"_ he sounded guilty, _"at work?"_

"Don't lie to me, man! She's here crying her eyes out." I looked at Lindsay as she raised her head to the sky, searching for answers, and sucked in air, her small body trembling in the frigid cold.

"_Oh_."

"What the fuck is this about?" I couldn't bear to watch her, so I walked into my room and shut the door.

"_I just don't want to hurt her."_

"Jesus! Danny, you inhaled too much glue in that lab or what? You don't want to hurt her? Are you kidding me?"

"_I dunno…I can't.."_

"She's crying in the rain, refusing to come in. And she fucking thinks it's her fault. You don't want to hurt her, my ass. She's going to need a new liver and eyeballs after tonight."

"_Tell her I'm sorry."_

"Tell you what, why don't you get your ass here and tell her that yourself."

"_I can't."_

"Messer!" I growled. What. Was. His. Problem? "You have got to fix this. She loves you!"

"_I just can't."_ His voice cracked a little but he cleared his throat. _"I love her. But I can't."_

"You can't what? Damn it!"

"_I can't talk to her now. I'm leaving New York."_

"You are running! What? To where? Some best friend you are."

"_I want her to be happy. Tell her I love her --"_ He hung up and left me reeling in a mixture of shock and anger. Lindsay was so not going to be fine.

I walked out of my bedroom and saw Lindsay standing two feet before it, making a puddle on my floor. "Did you tell him?" She hiccupped violently.

"What?" I asked and dug for an old T-shirt and a pair of shorts to offer her.

"Did you tell him it hurts," She paused to cough and pat her chest, "in here?"

"Here," I pushed the garments into her shaking hands, "Go change. We need to talk."

She was drunk enough to not notice me evading her question, but I doubted she was drunk enough to not feel the heartache that I had been burdened to deliver. I was mad, very mad. Damn Danny for leaving us behind to pick up the pieces. Damn him for leaving at all.

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_Review, please? _


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Woah, it's certainly been a long time. Life got in the way, so writing took a back seat. Well, more than a year ago when I wrote the preceding chapter I thought that that would be it. Apparently, it's not. Thanks to all who reviewed and sorry for the wait. I've decided to continue on with the story, not sure where it's headed, not sure if I'll ever complete it, because that all depends on plot bunnies and time. I hope you enjoy. If time permits, I should have a new chapter up soon.

If this appears disjointed in any way, pardon me, I haven't written anything other than, well, homework stuff, in a year.

Disclaimer: If I owned the show, I wouldn't have to study.

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**Left behind**

Danny left so abruptly, without rhyme or reason, and I found myself left in his mess, picking up the pieces. After the night I found Lindsay melting her liver at Sullivan's, things changed. For worse or for better? Only time will tell.

The first few weeks were so surreal; it was like we were living our lives in Technicolor. When he left, summer turned to autumn. The leaves started to fall, leaving copper and brown across the cooling tiles and tar that built the foundation of New York City. The buildings that never changed grew a shade darker, while the sticky summer air settled for a lower, more comfortable temperature. Lindsay grew thinner while her eyes originally a warm chocolate brown, turned cold and vacant. She practically lived in the lab, surviving on take out and instant noodles. I suppose with Danny gone, there was no reason for her to go home, or to cook. To me, it was like witnessing a tragedy. Epic love story gone wrong, sucking away life from the people it touched.

She worked all night long, and sometimes we'd find her asleep at her table, her elbows cushioned by case files and evidence sheets as we entered in the morning. Mac tried making her go home once, after she closed an especially tiring case. But Lindsay insisted that she was 'fine, not tired, not hungry, and most definitely not sleepy'. In the end Stella and I had to drag her away, driving her in the car while she whined about how not tired she was the entire way to Stella's place. We almost had to push her into the apartment, where we force-fed her some delicious gourmet meal Stella had prepared the night before. Watching Lindsay toy with and rearrange her food was horrible and…_just, seriously, what was Danny's problem? _Stella tried to start a boring conversation about hair and make up after half an hour of watching her mope. I, for one, was about to explode in my seat.

I felt like smashing glasses and breaking TV sets, preferably on Danny's head. But he wasn't there, and all we had left was a broken heart, and a very spiritless lab.

We drank quite a fair bit, red wine washing the miserable down our throats. The wife, the sister, the best friend. Kind of makes you think how many people you leave behind when you actually leave.

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When I woke up the next morning with a hang over, Stella was already up, making toast and coffee for breakfast. Lindsay lay on the couch with dried tear streaks turning silver on her cheeks, snoring lightly. Exhaustion must've finally caught up with her. Stella handed me a mug of coffee and an Aspirin, her mouth hardened into a thin line, cheeks sunken. I wondered for a moment how quickly we had all changed. All it had taken was a few days and already we looked haggard and gaunt, as if the life had been sucked out of us by a giant siphon. Scribbling a note and leaving it on the coffee table, Stella nudged me out of her apartment and we rode together to work.

"Do you think we'll ever be okay?" She asked; her voice quiet and laced with weariness.

I shrugged, "Dunno."

"Maybe if we knew why he left, we could begin to understand, and we could being to forgive."

"I suppose. But Stell, I just can't believe he actually just up and left."

"I know, me too. Poor Lindsay."

The light turned red ahead of us and I braked, then turned to look at her. "If he comes back, what do you way we bludgeon him?"

She grinned, though half-heartedly, "Yeah. I'm pretty sure Mac and Sheldon would like to join in."

When the day shift ended, I picked Stella up and we headed back to check on Lindsay.

We found her staring out of the window, balled up Kleenex scattered around her.

"Hey Lindsay."

She didn't bother to look at us, just muttered a low hello accompanied with a sigh.

"I'll order Chinese, the two of you just relax." I announced and went to the kitchen to make the phone call. From the corner of my eye, I watched Stella move over to where Lindsay was, pushed aside the used tissues and sat next to her. She raised her hand to touch Lindsay's arm, received a flinch and a deadened look.

"Come here, kiddo," she murmured and gathered Lindsay into her arms.

I stayed in the kitchen, puttering around with Stella's utensils and opening the fridge. I'd almost never seen Lindsay cry before this, and hearing her quiet sobs muffled by Stella's shoulder, was painful enough. Eventually I went over to where they were seated and hovered awkwardly. Lindsay quietened and shifted away from Stella, looked at me and wordlessly reached for my hand. Her hand was cold and clammy and sticky with tears. She was tiny, and I felt compelled to squeeze her hand comfortingly.

"Thank you," she sighed, throat choked with tears.

"No problem." I couldn't bring myself to smile.

"Lindsay, I think you should think about moving in with me." Stella said.

"I don't want to impose on anyone, Stella."

"You won't be. I've needed a roommate for quite some while now, anyway."

There was a pregnant silence and I crossed my fingers, hoping that Lindsay wouldn't go ballistic and accuse us of babying her. The chances of that happening were low, but anything Danny touches seems to get wrecked.

Lindsay nodded and got up, gathering the Kleenex together and throwing them in the bin across the hall. She returned and stood in front of Stella, "Okay. Sure beats living in the lab which Mac never seems to leave," and cracked a small smile.

The Chinese arrived, and we ate while watching the evening news. As she scraped the base of the white take out box for the last strands of noodles, Lindsay spoke, "So, I was thinking of burning his clothes. Anyone want to help?"

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Over the weekend we cleaned out their apartment. Lindsay didn't say much, just tidied her stuff into suitcases and picked out books and trinkets that were hers. Danny's paraphernalia she threw rather violently into a large carton, not caring if cologne bottle broke or if his watches cracked. She was angry, angrier than any of us had ever seen before. When the apartment was cleaned out, I noticed she ran her fingers over the table tops and door frames before turning on her heel fiercely, tears dripping off her chin which she wiped away furiously, and then running down the stairs to where we were parked.

Before we made the turn that would lead up to Stella's building, she muttered to no one, but with resignation, that Danny Messer was officially wiped out of her life.

I nodded, my fingers were still stained with his cologne that had seeped through the carton boxes, and the dust peppered over his old stuff. I mused that if he ever did come back, he would freak out upon realizing how his old school reports and keepsakes were probably somewhere lying among stacks of ashes in landfills. But the thought made a fist clench around my heart. My best friend was possibly never coming back.

All I could feel after that decidedly unfortunate thought, was murky water eddying, and blunt emotions lapping against the corners of my soul, wearing me down.

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A/N: So what did you think? Would be nice to receive some reviews, whether positive or negative. Thanks, and cheerios! Mistakes are all mine.


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